"Do you know where McCabe is?" Arturo looked at his eyes, believing after twenty-eight years with the carabinieri he could see dishonesty in a man's eyes.
"No," Chip Tallenger said. "I have not seen or talked to him since Thursday evening."
If he was lying, Arturo could see no evidence of it. He did not look down or look away or even blink, his eyes calm and steady. "What time did McCabe come to the room?"
"Nine, nine-fifteen. Picked up a couple things and left," Chip said.
"I must've seen him a few minutes later," Signor Rady said.
"Per favore," Arturo said to him. "If you please. I want to find out what happened."
"McCabe's no longer a student at this university," Signor Rady said. "I'm telling you this because he's no longer our responsibility or concern."
"Yes, but Signor McCabe is still my concern, so if you will indulge me."
"Okay," Signor Rady said, "but I don't see-"
Arturo had contacted Signor Rady about meeting with Chip Tallenger, a confidential discussion, but Rady insisted on being there, imposing his authority. This was university property and Signor Tallenger was a student, registered and enrolled, so Rady had to be present. They were in his office, once again, at the small table.
"I can't help you," Chip Tallenger said, although his eyes seemed to be saying he wanted to.
"You see the automobile, the Fiat rented by Signor McCabe?"
"Not till it was on TV."
"If you know something," Signor Rady said, flashing an angry look at Chip, "you better tell him. By protecting McCabe you're only going to make it worse."
Chip looked at Arturo. "Who's after him?"
"Signor Rady, give us a moment," Arturo said.
"I can't do that, Captain. If this matter involves one of my students, it involves me."
Now he was concerned. Arturo could feel the blood pressure rising. "Why was McCabe in Lazio?"
"No idea," Chip said.
"Why was McCabe at Signor Carsella's villa?"
"Who's Signor Carsella?"
"The man who owns Cucina da Pietro, the restaurant you walk out the gate is one hundred meters down Via Trionfale."
"I didn't know his last name," Chip Tallenger said.
"You know his villa?"
"That he has one in the country somewhere in Lazio, that's all. McCabe mentioned it. Pietro said he could use it. I've never been there. Never seen it. Why don't you ask the man who owns it?"
As it happened, Signor Carsella had contacted the carabinieri after seeing a live broadcast from the crime scene. Police were looking for an American student named William McCabe. Two days before McCabe had asked if he could use Signor Carsella's villa, saying he was with a woman, making the situation all the more intriguing. Arturo had asked Chip Tallenger who this mysterious woman might be. Chip had no idea. She was not a girl from the school or they would know. Now McCabe was in trouble or worse and Arturo had no motive, and no evidence beyond the rental vehicle. It was a coincidence Arturo was involved at all. He had gone to his office that morning to finish filing a report. He was planning to take the day off, his first in some time, months.
Luciano had seen him and said, "Captain, you remember the American student who was kidnapped?"
Of course he remembered. His name was McCabe.
"Someone tried to kill him."
And just like that Arturo was phoning his wife to cancel plans to spend the afternoon and evening, first shopping with her, which he did not care about missing, and then dinner at Colline Emiliane, which he did.
Luciano drove and they arrived at the scene on Viale Fiume, two kilometers east of Viterbo, at 3:15. There were four state police, and a television news crew from Rome already there, a reporter broadcasting live. How did they hear about it so quickly? Arturo was surprised the local police had been so careless. It was a crime scene after all.
Luciano told everyone to move back away from the vehicle until they had time to complete their investigation. Arturo studied the damaged Fiat resting at the edge of the woods. There was blood on the airbag that had deployed, and blood on the gray-and-blue cloth front seats, and bloody fingerprints on the passenger side door.
"Captain, you believe someone could walk away from this?"
"I don't know that someone did." He glanced up the hill past the tree line and saw a house. "Stay here, I'm going to check something."
He walked through the woods, looking for McCabe on the way, breathing hard, feeling the climb in his fifty-year-old legs. A man came out of the house as Arturo appeared coming out of the woods, crossing the yard, Arturo in jeans and a black tee-shirt under a sport jacket, his carabinieri badge on a lanyard around his neck.
The man's face was brown and wrinkled from the sun, and he wore a dark-blue beret. Arturo asked if he had seen what happened earlier and the man said no, but his wife had. The man called her name and she emerged from the house, a plump round woman wearing dark stockings and a black dress with an apron over it.
She told Arturo she was outside hanging laundry, right there, she said, pointing to a rope strung between two trees. There was a noise like an engine backfiring, and she looked down at the road, telling him about the car spinning out of control. Telling him about the men with guns getting out of another car, and about the man coming up the hill through the woods.
Arturo showed her the photograph of McCabe taken the night he was arrested.
The wife nodded. "It is him."
"Was there a woman with him?"
She shook her head. "No, but there was a man with a shotgun following him."
Later they had gone to investigate Signor Carsella's villa a few kilometers from the crime scene. On the way Arturo said, "So how is everything with Carmen?"
"Don't ask, Captain," Luciano said.
"Another argument?"
"This might be the end. We have not spoken for two days."
"If you were married you would have to work things out," Arturo said. "This is what I have been trying to tell you."
They drove up the steep hill toward the villa.
"I don't want to work things out."
Arturo said, "What do you want?"
"If I knew that," Luciano said, "it would be a lot easier."
Luciano parked next to the main house. "Have a look," Arturo said, pointing at the outbuildings.
Arturo got out of the car and entered the villa, walking into the kitchen. Yes, clearly someone had been here. There were wine glasses on the counter with wine still in them, and food in the refrigerator. There was a bloodstained towel in the sink, evidence of a possible crime, but not much to go on.
He checked the cellar, well stocked with wine but nothing else. He checked the main room and the salon and the toilet room. Went outside, stood on the portico, gazing at the lush countryside.
He went back inside and up the stairs. In one room a bed was unmade, sheet and blanket folded back. There was a backpack on the floor. Arturo opened the compartments and found clothes and a pocketknife. In the bathroom there was a shaving kit and a toothbrush next to the sink, signs McCabe had been there, but no sign of McCabe. He heard Luciano come up the stairs and said, "Did you find something?" "Nothing. Now what, Captain?" Arturo was wondering the same thing.